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PILGRIMS: 


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BY THE 


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PILGRIMS. 



Life's Pilgrims ! struggling to attain some shrine 

Of faith, love, liberty, or whate'er truth, 

Or small, or great, the soul has strength to grasp 

By which to raise itself from earth to Heaven. 

Unsatisfied — in that the end is seen 

Not here but there. 



I. 

Near where the Tiber's patriarchal flow 
Rolls 'neath the arches of the Angelo, 
A palace stands. 

In vain the lucent smile 
Of sunshine lingers on the gloomy pile ; 
No sun however bright can e'er restore 
The glories Time has dimmed for evermore ! 
Above the portals, half defaced by age, 
Some sculptured arms bespeak a lineage 
Princely and old. A warrior of the line, 
In the Crusades of Holy Palestine, 

B 



2 PILGRIMS. 

Had chosen in remembrance of the war 
For badge, a crescent and attendant star, 
With motto circling; " From the Eastern sky 
I shall return in greater majesty." 
Vain words ! which now a ruined shield infold 
To mock the glories that they once foretold. 

Beyond the entrance is a court inlaid 

With marbles, girded by a wide arcade, 

'Neath which amidst the solemn shadows lie 

Fragments of torsi and sarcophagi, 

Within Campagna's mighty storehouse found — 

For countless ages buried underground. 

But where the court is open to the'day, 

Half shrouded in a fountain's glistening spray, 

Is crouched the Queen of Love, whilst from her 

shell 
The plaintive waters murmuring to the well, 
Appear lamenting with soft falling tears, 
The pow'r and glory of departed years. 

Around the Court, within th' encircling walls, 
Are ranged saloons and mirth-chilled banquet 
halls, 



A POEM. 3 

Where not an echo lingers to recall 

The revels of forgotten festival. 

Adorned are they by master-hands of yore 

With frescoed scenes of legendary lore ; 

Or hung with treasures from the Flemish looms, 

Which, dimly seen within the darkened rooms, 

Suspend in epic folds upon the wall — 

Of their own splendour, the funereal pall ! 

Sometimes it chances that an errant ray 

Creeps in, and glides across the tapestry, 

As though t'would fain restore with gleaming 

thread 
The lustre other suns have withered. 
'Tis then, perchance — deserting worlds above — 
That round the arras the dead craftsmen move, 
Who, faithful still to work they loved of old, 
Repair their weaving with celestial gold. 
Within the galleries — in state enshrined — 
Repose the relics of creative mind. 
There, on the canvas, lastingly endure 
The mellow tints of Titian of Cadore ; 
And fervidly th' unrivalled colours glow 
Of Castel Franco's wondrous Georgio, 

B 2 



4 PILGRIMS. 

Whilst saintly figures rest beneath the spell 

Of Urbino's inspired Raphael. 

These gems of art their serried ranks maintain, 

Though wealth and influential grandeur wane ;' 

For fallen nobles guard with jealous pride 

Those heirlooms that the Past has sanctified, 

Preserving still th' illusory display 

Of dignity, when power has passed away, 

And idly bask within the slanting rays 

Of glory lingering from the former days. 

But some there are with loftier dreams of 

fame, 
Who scorn the borrowed halo of a Name, 
Save as a basis to be fraught anew 
With the great actions they themselves shall do. 
'Tis thus that Claudio, of th' illustrious line 
Descending from the Knight of Palestine, 
Has learned to estimate his lineage, 
And prize his now impoverished heritage, 
As workmen glory in the fallen tree 
For which they shape a nobler destiny. 
No charm for him possess the pictured walls, 
The phantom honour of his fathers' halls ; 



A POEM. 5 

No charm for him the false inglorious pride 
That lingers vainly where all else has died ; 
Undazzled by his predecessors' state, 
Their acts alone he yearns to emulate. 
His mind already plans heroic schemes — 
And — not content with ineffectual dreams — 
He is enrolled within the patriot band 
Of heroes vowed to die, or free their land. 

* >\z >jc * >;c 

It is the eve of Lent. 

Avoiding all 
The crowds assembled for the Carnival, 
Claudio the Ghetto treads. No tinted ray 
Can enter there to charm the night away 
Or woo one instant from the darkness. Where 
The shadows cluster in the Cenci Square 
He passes — heedless of Beatrice's fate, 
And through the archway of the Jewish Gate 
Speeds to the Quattro Capi,* where the skies 
Are flooded with the day's last brilliancies, 



* The Bridge of Quattro Capi is the ancient Pons Fabricius. It 
crosses the Tiber to the Island of JEsculapius, or Isola di San Barto- 
lomeo. The piers of the arches are ornamented with heads of Janus. 



O PILGRIMS. 

Whilst — as unto a sacrificial fire — 
Phoebus sinks slowly to the funeral pyre 
Himself has kindled. With a last caress 
He bathes the world he leaves in loveliness, 
And his extended arms of flame infold 
Trastevere's* proud walls, and change to gold 
The sepia palaces. 

Upon the piers, 
Which Janus guards throughout the changing 

years, 
The radiance strikes and casts upon the tide, 
Their forms reflected quivering side by side. 
Ah ! would that Truth and Liberty had given 
Their light where only now shines that of 

Heaven ! 
Borne from afar the giddy Maskers' cries, 
Strike dissonant with Roman destinies. 

" Unseemly jesters ! Romans but in name ! 
Can ye thus wantonly parade your shame, 



* The inhabitants of Trastevere claim the purest Roman 
descent ; and, it is said, refuse to intermarry with their fellow 
citizens on the opposite bank of the Tiber. 



A POEM. 7 

Letting your tyrants triumph as they see 
How they have crushed your last of dignity ? 
Yet thanks to heaven ! some few remain to us 
Who dwell in Rome and yet are valorous ! 
Some few chivalrous hearts who soon shall hold 
No broken mirror to the days of old ! " 

Thus Claudio — then whilst in the fading west, 
The last long sunbeam folds itself to rest, 
And all the beauties of the wearied light 
Sink softly sleeping to the arms of night, 
He passes on unto that island shore 
Whence ^Esculapius in the days of yore, 
Transported from the distant shrines of Greece 
In serpent semblance, made the plague to 

cease. 
There — from a vault-like entry, high and wide, 
Chilled by the vapours from the neighbouring- 
tide, — 
A lantern swings. Beneath its flickering glare 
Arise the marbles of a time-worn stair, 
Up which springs Claudio to a spacious room 
Where age has settled moodily to gloom, 



O PILGRIMS. 

Where tattered curtains brown with time and 

dust 
And arms once red with blood, but now with 

rust, 
And faded frescoes of that marriage day* 
Centaurs dishonoured by a murderous fray — 
Are all commingled in a misty haze, 
Within a shaded lamp's uncertain rays. 

A restless figure pacing to and fro 
Starts with a greeting ; 

" Welcome, Claudio ! 
Again are we the first ! 

These schemes allay 
The thirst for right that rots my life away ! 
There is a burning zeal within my soul 
Impatient of the maddening control 
Delay exacts, and which would rashly break 
All barriers of prudence, and would make 
This revolution by one mighty blow ! 
By one fell swoop sink all our tyrants low ! " 



* Marriage day of Pirithous. 



A POEM. 9 

" Yet is there sometimes reason in delay 
For actions too precipitant might stay 
The cause they blindly purpose to progress 
And stem the chance of ultimate success." 

And then, as rebel stars meet one by one 
To claim the empire of the setting sun, 
Come other patriots to discuss the schemes 
By which they hope to realize their dreams ; 
And Claudio, rising to address the band, 
Accents his words with an uplifted hand : 

" As when some warrior overcome by pain 
And long unconscious on the bloody plain, 
Revives, to aim an unexpected blow 
With deadly vigour at his heedless foe, — 
E'en thus the spirit of the Roman race, 
Subdued, enfeebled, conquered for a space, 
Revives, with subtle purpose to oppose 
Th' ascendency of Rome's triumphant foes ! 
Unhappy Rome ! where truth has lost her 

light, 
And wrong bewilders in the garb of right. 



IO PILGRIMS. 

Oh ! men of Rome ! sons of a race of kings ! 
Whose valour, echoing through the ages, 

rings 
Like martial music from a distant plain 
Resounding midst the mountains, — now again 
Renew the strain, that it may never die, 
But vibrate onward to eternity !" 
He pauses, — for a whisper smites his ear : 
" Hist ! speak no further — there's a traitor 

here ! " 

As when some startled gazer's heav'n-turned 

glance 
Beholds a meteor flash the dark expanse, 
And striving to discern its course afar, 
Deems each unchanging orb the fallen star, — 
E'en thus do Claudio's troubled glances fall 
On those around — suspicious of them all ! 
Unconsciously he grasps the ready knife — 
The prompt defender of the Roman's life. 

" Nay, stay thy weapon, noble Claudio ; wait — 
All may be lost if too precipitate. 



A POEM. II 

See where yon tapestries so darkly fall 

Beside that frescoed panel in the wall, 

There stand three figures — two of them we know, 

The Counts of Benvicin' and Urbino, — ■ 

The third — who with such obvious caution holds 

Himself enveloped in his toga's folds — • 

Say, know'st thou him ?" 

" No ! but per Bacco ! soon 
Too well for him I'll know the base poltroon ! " 
And shaking off his friend's restraining clasp, 
He springs upon the foe ! With iron grasp 
He brands his strength upon the muffled arm, 
Whilst through th' assembly spreads a vague 

alarm, 
And shouts commingle in a deafening cry, 
•' A spy ! secure the traitor ! treachery ! " 
Then midst the clamour, rising sweet and clear 
A voice is heard, " Unhand me, Prince ! For- 
bear!" 

Unmanned and vanquished by a single word, 
Claudio starts back dismayed ! His hand has 
stirred 



12 PILGRIMS. 

The toga's folds — they fall — and tumult dies 

Before the radiance of a woman's eyes ! 

A woman ! Of that beauteous type which smiles 

Upon Venetia's Venus favoured isles ! 

As bright the shimmering of her golden hair 

As though the Lido's sands were sprinkled 

there ; 
As deep the lustre of her purple eyes 
As moonlit ether in Italian skies. 
Half shrouded by an emerald-gleaming vest, 
Emotion troubled heaves her snowy breast, 
Arising purely from the folds beneath 
As a white flow'ret from its verdant sheath. 

" Melina !— Here !— at night !— alone ! " Thus 

low, 
In broken utterances, Claudio. 

" Nay, chide me not ; an over-acted jest 

Has brought me hither, — an unwelcome guest." 

Thus she — soft-toned — to him, and then aloud, 
With words submissive, but with gesture proud — 



A POEM. 13 

As of a queen dethroned, who would hide 

Her loss of dignity by added pride — 

" Romans ! the plea I offer to you all 

Must be the licence of the Carnival. 

My cousin Claudio, importuned long, 

Refused to join the Corso's brilliant throng, 

And half in wonder, half in girlish glee, 

I vowed to solve th' unwonted mystery 

Of his ascetic mood ; and, unbetrayed 

Beneath this toga's friendly folds, I strayed, 

Pursuing him across the Tiber's flood, 

And thus — beyond the bounds of maidenhood. 

And now my honour rests with you, whilst / 

Hold secrets hazarding your liberty ; 

In mutual threats then, be our safety laid, 

Who first denounces, be at once betrayed !" 

She pauses, and as music from a song 
Suspended, on the hushed air vibrates long, 
E'en thus her accents thrill throughout the 

hall, 
Nor die till they have touched the hearts of 

all. 



14 PILGRIMS. 

And then the Leader of the rebel band 
With reverence kneels to kiss the lady's hand ; 
" Believe us, Princess, we would rather see 
Our visions fade like golden mists at sea, 
And forfeit all our glorious dreams by death, 
Than wrong thy virtue by a single breath ; 
Not all the laurels from the brow of Fame 
Absolve the slanderer of a woman's name ! " 

And Claudio, silent whilst his leader speaks, 
Marks well the haughty glance and kindling 

cheeks 
Of her, whose beauteousness seems made to try 
How swift from heav'n love's winged darts can 

fly! 
Yet in his breast forebodings strange and dim 
Annul the magic of her charms for him. 

Thus sometimes when the northern ocean 

gleams 
Exultant in the summer's radiant beams, 
A breath from unseen ice-realms chills the air, 
Prognostic of the spectres lurking there. 



A POEM. 15 

Then quietly from where its folds have lain 
Lifting the fallen mantle, and again 
Shrouding her with it from betraying sight, 
He leads Melina out into the night. 
The night ! so solemn — so intensely still, 
That silence — void of earth-sounds — seems to fill 
With spiritual whisperings, that may 
Be echoes from the bright worlds far away. 
Then on his ear a murmur like a charm 
Falls softly, whilst a hand entwines his arm. 

" My Claudio, cousin, why so stern — so grave ? 
It was not thus the ancient Roman brave 
Responded to the presence of the fair, 
Nor left unstruck the chords of moonlit air ! " 

He answers mournfully ; 

" 'Twere best to leave 
The chords untouched, than tune them to 

deceive, 
And did I speak my thoughts, my words 

would be 
Not such, perchance, as thou would'st hear." 



l6 PILGRIMS. 

Then she ; 
" Say what thou wilt. I know men deem me 

proud — 
But see yon moon, emerging from a cloud, 
Unchangeable and cold to every sun, 
Except her only loved peculiar one, — 
Thus, friend of childhood, art thou all to me, 
My heart, if cold to others, warms to thee ! 
Then fear not that my haughtiness repel 
The confidence of one I love — too well /" 

Confounded in one long impassioned sigh, 
The last two words, unheard, unvalued, die ! 

" My thoughts," he answers, " tremble in my 

breast, 
Like frightened birds that dare not pause to rest, 
Nor stay to let us count th' intricate rings 
Of changing colour in their agile wings. 
Thoughts of those now irrevocable hours, 
When all thy charms, like partly opened flowers, 
Reserved their beauty for the only eye 
That stooped to mark their early brilliancy. 



A POEM. 17 

But now, alas ! in these less happy days 

Th' expanded blossoms court each idler's gaze, 

And lose their sweetness in the heart of one 

Who values only what is his alone. 

Thou say'st men deem thee proud, — 'tis true,— 

and yet 
'Twas a strange pride that led thee to forget, 
As on this night, that woman's surest tie 
Upon a man's true love is modesty ! 
Pride — born of vanity ! — that condescends 
To court the very notice that offends !" 

He pauses — for within his listener's eyes 

The liquid fires of indignation rise, 

And darkening their pathway shadows fall, 

Dropped at the foot of a palatial wall. 

" My home !" Melina cries, " Alas ! that I 

From thy reproach should need its sanctuary!" 

Then from his side swift springs the angered 

maid, 
Lost in a moon-twined labyrinth of shade. 



PILGRIMS. 



II. 

" What mystic awe th' enthusiast's bosom fills 
Before the City of the Seven Hills ! 
The mausoleum of a race of kings ! 
Amidst the walls the creeping ivy clings, 
Binding the mouldering clay and crumbling 

stones 
With martyrs' ashes and with emperors' bones ! 
Behold her now, as mournfully she lies 
Beneath the radiance of the Southern skies, 
For faithful nature does not change with fate, 
And even smiles upon a fallen state ! 
Behold her giant aqueducts and tombs, 
Her sculptured arches and vast catacombs ! 
As ages since the elders of the state 
Awaited calmly their impending fate, 
And armed alone with symbols of the law 
Inspired the rude barbarians with awe — 
Thus Rome herself now stands, unarmed, yet 

grand, 
Amidst the relics of her lost command, 



A POEM. ig 

Whilst ruin halting, hesitates to ply 
The final stroke upon such majesty ! " 

Thus muses Claudio, as from Alba's shade 
He marks the well-known scene, so soon to fade 
Amidst the mem'ries that like spirits cling 
Around the sepulchres from which they spring ; 
For through the land at last the whisper runs, 
Calling from schemes to action all her sons ! 

Far as can range the beauty-stricken eye, 
Fair hills, in rainbow circlet, bound the sky, 
Save where upon the turquoise gleaming west 
The heav'ns bend down to kiss the ocean's 

breast. 
Cimino's range of branching Apennine, 
And far La Tolfa's amethystine line, 
Soracte's ridge, round which the severed plain 
Sweeps circlingly to meet its own again ; 
Sabina's crests, Alban's volcanic height — 
All, girt around Campagna, guard the site 
Of Rome — who, like a captive shackled, stands 
Clasped in the glittering Tiber's golden bards. 

c 2 



20 PILGRIMS. 

Time-severed aqueducts from fissures throw 
Their wasted streamlets upon tombs below ; 
Or, ruin-choked, their futile channels bear, 
Reared upon trains of arches through the air, 
Converging towards the distant domes and 

walls 
On which the splendour of the sunlight falls, 
And where the ringed arena seems to wed 
The mourning city to her glorious dead ! 

" Farewell ! beloved haunts of happy hours ! 
Farewell ! ye Iris-hued Campagna flow'rs 1 
As echoing vibrations, soft and low, 
As scent of roses faded long ago — 
Thus sadly mystical how soon will be 
This ungrasped dream I call Reality ! 
How imperceptibly 'twill pale and die, 
To swell the shadowy ranks of Phantasy." 

And then he travels on — till struggling light 
Of evening yields day's sceptre to the night : 
Then on again, as an avenging day 
Subdues the darkness with a golden ray. 



A POEM. 21 

On — -where Cisterna's watchful towers command 
The dreary Pontine's pestilential land, 
Confronting grimly the insidious foe 
That lurks unseen amid the plains below. 

Across the marshes — hurriedly again — 

Where twenty cities silently have lain 

For centuries. Where long grass rustling waves 

Above unmarked innumerable graves. 

A nation's burial ground ! where vapours creep 

Like waves upon the agitated deep, 

Or, like battalions of uneasy shades, 

Whose unsubstantial forms as daylight fades, 

Flit noiselessly, and with sepulchral breath 

Insnare fresh victims to their fields of death. 

Then on where Terracina's dwellings creep 
Beneath the shelter of the Volscian steep, 
As though commingled with the golden sand, 
The sea had washed white pearls upon the 

land! 
Where gloomy Itri and grim Fondi lie 
In wildly mountainous obscurity ; 



22 PILGRIMS. 

Then down upon the glowing shore below 
Where stood the villa home of Cicero, 
And where the lingering orange-trees of old, 
Still lace their boughs and toss their balls of 

gold. 
Past lone Minturnae's now deserted walls, 
Near which — reluctant — Garigliano falls 
Into the bosom of the sea, then on 
Where Casilinum is now built upon ; 
And thus still onward to where Naples rests, 
Beneath Vesuvius' fire-emitting crests 
Appearing lovely in her tranquil bliss, 
As Venus sleeping in the arms of Dis. 



A POEM. 23 



III. 



The angel of the night outspreads her wings 

Above the City of the Bay. All things 

Are hushed and tranquil. On the tow'r-crowned 

walls 
The opalescence of the moonlight falls, 
But 'neath each roof, within each deep recess, 
The darkness creeps to hide its nothingness, 
And as the way-worn traveller descends 
A labyrinthian Vicolo, that wends 
Its way to the Toledo, dark and tall 
His shadow stalks upon the neighbouring wall 
In weird companionship, whilst faltering on 
His slow steps blot the light they rest upon, 
And to his ear the still air seems imbued 
With breathings of the sleeping multitude. 

Sudden across his path a red gleam falls 
From a recess within th' adjacent walls, 
Where 'neath a hoary archway, guarded by 
Two cherubim in sculptured imagery, 



24 PILGRIMS. 

Some steps, that worshippers by prayers and 

tears 
Have consecrated through unnumbered years, 
Ascend towards an Altar, bathed in light, 
For ever shining on throughout the night, 
Where, all resplendent in a jewelled sheen, 
Appears an image of the heavenly Queen ; 
Her bleeding heart transfixed with swords of 

woe — 
The types of anguish suffered long ago ; 
Her hands in patient agony comprest 
Upon her pierced and lacerated breast ; 
Her eyes turned — as in ecstasy — above, 
With resignation and adoring love. 

Before the shrine, within the rays that shed 
A holy nimbus round her bending head, 
A maiden, weeping, kneels. Her face is pale, 
E'en near the shimmering whiteness of the veil, 
That squarely plaited o'er her forehead lies, 
And models to her form its draperies. 
Beneath its folds, the radiance here and there 
Steals loving touches from her raven hair, 



A POEM. 25 

And lingering on her peasant garb imbues 
The scarlet and the blue with warmer hues. 
Claudio in silence gazes, and then low 
Before the Altar bends. 

Upon her brow 
Tracing the cross, the girl arises calm — 
But starts at sight of him in vague alarm, 
That lasts not, for her guileless trust is 

given 
To one thus bowed in fellowship with Heaven. 

Then Claudio rising, meets her gaze with tears 
Still dimmed : 

" Fair maid, whate'er thy grief or fears, 
Confide them unto me, for by this shrine, 
My will already moulds itself to thine." 

Sweet accents give response : 

" I trust in thee 
For thou art like the saintly forms I see 
In frescoed churches. From a woodland glen 
I come, a stranger to tnese haunts of men, 



26 PILGRIMS. 

And fear this wilderness of streets, whence night, 
Unfriendly to the maid, has chased the light ; 
So here, beneath the bless'd Madonna's eye, 
I claim a virgin's right to sanctuary. 
But ah ! where Santa Lucia skirts the bay, 
I know my sire has watched the livelong day 
For my return, and when the Vesper Hymn 
Brought not his own loved Silvia back to him, 
What anxious thoughts would wound with need- 
less fears 
The love that has encompassed all my years !" 

Then thus to her the youth : " Be thou the guide 

And I will be protector. By thy side, 

As Ischia over Procida,* o'er thee 

I'll watch, nor ever pass the severing sea 

Of virtuous respect. Come, let us hence, 

Nor fear to give me all thy confidence." 

They leave the shrine together, hand in hand ; 
The girl conducts him to the moonlit strand, 



* Two islands off the shore of Baise. 



A POEM. 27 

Where music from the coral-gifted sea 
Seems echoing some Nereid minstrelsy. 
And to that harmony the maiden sets 
The idyl of her life, nor ever lets 
One discord mar the theme. 

To him who hears 
The even tenor of her life appears 
A rosary of pearls — as pure, as fair, — 
Of which each day is told away in prayer ! 

Through wild Calabrian woods the sun has 

smiled 
Upon the advent of this peasant child. 
A widowed father's tenderness has sealed 
Her innocence with filial love — a shield 
Immaculate, — whilst in her simple breast 
His words, though fraught with superstition, rest 
In seeming purity, as light which falls 
Through coloured glass upon cathedral walls, 
Appears as glorious to th' untutored eye 
As when in its untinted unity. 
And now upon a pilgrimage they come — 
At Naples resting, on their way to Rome. 



28 PILGRIMS. 

" Ere yet the Holy City bows again 

In mem'ry of the day that Christ was slain — 

Within its blessed walls I lowly trust 

That I on bended knees, may press the dust 

Of martyrs — that my heart may worship God 

Upon the very ground apostles trod, 

And all its sins and weaknesses confess 

Within th' abode of perfect holiness, — 

That Rome may be revealed unto mine eyes 

No more in dreams but in realities ! " 

Then thus in mournful cadences the youth : 

" A dream is ofttimes lovelier than truth : 

It may be wiser not to track the course 

Of our delusions to their actual source. 

It has been said those beams that warm our 

earth 
Are cold within the orb that gives them birth ; 
Then maiden be content fulfilled to see 
Within thy heart thy dreams of purity." 

As when through zephyr-severed boughs a gleam 
Of sun lights up the shadows of a stream, 



A POEM. 29 

The river trembles at the very breeze 

That for the ray breaks passage through the 

trees, — 
Thus for an instant in the maiden's breast 
The truth illumes, whilst from their wonted 

rest 
The waves of doubt are troubled. 

But the air 
Now loses silence and the night-winds bear 
A voice of sorrow echoing from afar — 
The burden of whose plaint is " Silvia." 
The maid replies with an impassioned cry, 
" My father ! oh ! my father ! Here am I." 
And as a form approaching shades the strand, 
She springs to meet and kiss a parent's 

hand : 
E'en as a bud which near a rose has lain, 
If bent aside springs to the flow'r again ! 

But scarcely has the gladdened father pressed 
The blossom thus recovered to his breast ; 
When half mistrustful of his joy a dart 
Of winged suspicion pierces to his heart. 



30 PILGRIMS. 

" But who is this who with his hand in thine 
Thus leads thee through the night ? 

A child of mine 
Art thou no longer ! From my arms ! away ! 
Are not my years enough, that thou must weigh 
Me yet more quickly to the grave with shame ? 
And thou, base youth, from whate'er source thy 

name, — 
However noble or however great, — 
A curse henceforth shall mingle with thy fate, 
And from a peasant's arm a blow disgrace 
In thee, through thee, the fortunes of thy race ! " 

Then from his quivering hand a stroke descends, 
From which the youth shrinks not but rather 

lends 
Himself unto, as overcome with woe 
The aged head sinks with the falling blow. 

" Old man, allay thy passion and thy fears ! 
Thine only daughter still shall prop thy years 
In innocence ! Not thus within my arms 
Could I support thee, were thy vague alarms 



A POEM. 31 

Founded on aught but love to her ! Arise 
And read her purity within her eyes !" 



And then — beseeching, with clasped hands, — 

the maid : 
" Annul thy curse ! Unsay what thou hast 

said ! 
Father ! He is my friend, and thine through 

me ! 
Annul thy curse — lest it should turn to thee 
As some malignant spirit seeking rest, 
And rinding none, returns unto the breast 
That sent it forth!" 

Then leaning on the arm 
But late accursed, with slow returning calm 
Her father speaks : 

" May good o'ercome the ill 
Invoked upon thee, and may blessings fill 
The life I would have sown with curses ! May 
The Lord concede me an atoning day 
To consecrate to thee ! " 



32 PILGRIMS. 

" That day now dawns, 
The youth replies : " Look up, see where the 

Morn's 
Pale hands uplift the gloom — that nascent light 
Will find me such a wanderer as the night 
Now leaves, unless some friendly hand will 

guide 
Towards a refuge." 

" Where the plaintive tide 
Breaks on the shore of Santa Lucia, stands 
A fisher's hut, whose humble roof commands 
No comfort, but a shelter. There we stay, 
To rest our weariness upon our way 
Of pilgrimage unto the shrines of Rome ; 
He who receives us in his lowly home 
Will take thee also." 

Thus the aged sire ; 
Whilst fainter and yet fainter gleams the fire 
From red Vesuvius on the whitening bay, 
And one by one the stars are called away. 



A POEM. 33 



IV. 

How soon upon a stream is cast the rose 
That ever onward with the current flows, 
Until it reach the sea ! And thus — ah ! well ! 
How soon upon a life may fall the spell 
That haunts it evermore ! And as at times 
Re-echoing from afar come distant chimes, 
Now seeming to be lost, now heard again, 
As breezes trifle with their sweet refrain, 
Thus does a charm once whispered linger on, 
Renewed as often as 't is fancied gone ! 

Three morns, three noons, three eventides are 

all; 
And yet sufficient for the spell to fall ! 

Three morns — when midst the tendrils of a vine 
Which shrouds her casement, Silvia's arms 

entwine 
Dividing them, as like a timid bird 
She gazes through the leaves unseen, unheard, 

D 



34 PILGRIMS. 

Upon a form below, and knows not why 
Her heart thus longs to steal a memory 
To bless the day. 

Three noons — when o'er the bay 
The pilgrim maiden floats bright dreams away 
To lose them in the distance ! Then — three 

eves — 
When silently a small felucca leaves 
The strand, and youth and maiden, side by 

side, 
Across the trembling bow of waters glide 
To watch the wary fisher's torch-light glow 
In luring flashes on the waves below, 
Like love's first glances wakening from their 

rest 
The dazzled visions of a maiden's breast. 

And thus the spell was wrought in three short 

days ! 
So little time life's brightest season stays ! 
E'en with the happiest it must fade too soon ; 
The longest day has but an instant's noon ! 



A POEM. 35 

And now the rest is past ; another sun 
Will see the pilgrimage again begun, 
And Claudio on the sea. 

Alone, the maid 
At night keeps vigil with her tears, afraid 
Of all the years that in a weird array 
Look from the future ! Their once glad display 
Of hope is gone, and gathering clouds unfold 
From what in dawning seemed a mist of gold. 

Before her casement the vine's budding leaves 
Have lent their shadows to the moon, which 

weaves 
Amidst the brilliance of its midnight glow 
A phantom garland for the maiden's brow. 
The stillness rests so lightly on the bay, 
The slightest sound can startle it away, 
And touch the heart day's tumult could not move 
As through a waste life rings one note of love. 
And thus when suddenly a murmuring flow 
Of voices twain is heard — now loud — now low, 
(As when the breezes through a forest stir 
A whisper from the beech to which the fir 

D 2 



36 PILGRIMS. 

Sonorously responds,) the maiden hears, 
And half unconsciously arrests her tears. 
She knows the voices well ; — the deeper tone 
Is of her sire — Claudio's the softer one. 

" My friend, I thank thee for the noble vow 
Of service tendered, and which even now 
May be fulfilled. But numerous perils lurk 
In the completion of the simple work 
That mine will seem. 

The grace that I demand 
Is that thou place these papers in the hand 
Of him whose name they bear. But friend — 

take heed ! 
Light as they are, these papers bear the 

seed 
Of mighty changes, and within them lies 
A spark to fire Italian destinies ! 
And to thyself, if found on thee, they will 
Entail a curse ; but I have sworn my will 
A sacrifice to Italy, and now 
My country claims fulfilment of my vow, 
As I of thine." 



A POEM. 37 

The deeper tones reply ; 
" Fear not ; thy papers, with the memory 
Of thy protection to my child, shall rest 
Securely guarded at her father's breast." 

The listener hears no more, the voices fade 
Away into the night, and leave the maid 
Once more in silence midst the moonlight glow, 
The wreath of shades still traced upon her brow. 



38 PILGRIMS. 



V. 

An endless avenue ! The Volscian plain 
Arrays its poplar hosts in serried train 
From Anxur* to Velletri. Not a sound 
Breaks through their long battalions ! All 

around 
Is hushed, save when at intervals a breeze 
Transmits its password through the lines of 

trees ! 
The trees ! — for ever arching on before 
In dim perspective, — then advancing more, 
(Thus seems it to the wayfarers who press 
The road, bewildered by its changelessness,) 
Till they divide their seeming arch and sway 
Themselves upright, — then dwindle far away 
Again to nothingness. 

Across the plain 
A long canal conveys its watery train 



* The ancient name for Terracina. 



A POEM. 39 

Beside the avenue, whilst all around 

Is chilly marshland, whence no sight or sound 

Gives pledge of life. 

Upon the curveless way 
The pilgrims tread, through each alternate ray 
Of sun and stroke of shade beneath the trees. 

The maiden sighs : " The end for ever flees 
Before us, father ! Shall we never gain 
The boundaries of this perpetual plain ?" 

" God knows its limits, child, and He will be 
Our guide until we reach them ; but to me 
The end seems not so far — perchance that I 
May be the first to reach the boundary ! " 

" My father ! would'st thou leave me here 
alone ?" 

He looks on her with love : " My little one, 
I spoke of life — th' inevitable way 
Through which we travel onward day by day 
Unto an unknown goal !" 



40 PILGRIMS. 

Then sudden light 
Illumes the pilgrim's face, as though his 

sight 
Received some mirage of the realms that lie 
Far off beyond the unknown boundary ! 
And Silvia trembles, for a flush has ris'n 
Upon his brow, as though in search of Heav'n 
Life's sanguine current rose. 

" My father, rest : 
I see that thou art weary, for thy breast 
Is labouring with thy breath." 

"We soon shall gain 
A resting place," he answers, " for the plain 
Holds one small shelter on its outstretched 

palm 
At Appii Forum, where the holy balm 
Of friendship cheered St. Paul. A saintly band 
Will meet me also there, and to the land 
Which is eternal bear my soul." 

The hush 
Of silence stays his words, the fever-flush 



A POEM. 41 

More deeply brands his brow, whilst every 

vein, 
Inflamed with poison from the marshy plain, 
Swells lividly beneath the rebel strife 
Already waging in the lines of life. 

And yet he lingers not, but with the force 
Of growing fever still maintains his course 
Unfalteringly, whilst faint with weariness 
The tearful maiden's trembling footsteps press 
The road behind. 



At night the saintly band, 
He knew would bear him to the spirit land, 
Come for the father, and the maid alone 
At Appii Forum sighs, " Thy will be done," — 
And weeps. Not only he, but all the world 
Seems dead to her ; and as pale vapours, 

curled 
By night winds, stalk the plain, she seems to lie 
Upon the threshold of eternity 
Amidst expectant shades. 



42 PILGRIMS. 

And when the day — 
The first without him — glides at last away 
Relentlessly, affixing time's first seal 
Unto the finished life, the thoughts which 

steal 
Within her breast seem spectres too ! Her 

mind 
Sways vaguely with emotions undefined, 
That dim the sense of loss ; and thus is thrown 
A veil by nature over grief — a stone 
Upon the sepulchre of woe — to hide 
From her — her dead. 

Then whispering to her side 
Come words from kindly wayfarers who stay 
Likewise at Appii Forum on their way 
Of pilgrimage to Rome. They — to retrace 
Her steps advise the maid, but 

" By the grace 
Of Him," she answers, " Who the fatherless 
Protects, I unmolested shall progress 
Unto my vow's fulfilment." And unseen 
Upon her heart she folds what late had 

been 



A POEM. 43 

The Prince's charge unto her sire, the scroll 
Of danger-haunted papers, now the sole 
Connecting link between the loved and dead 
And her unfriended life, nor ever fled 
A carrier dove more purely sheltering 
Its secret trust beneath a fluttering wing* 



44 PILGRIMS. 



VI. 

The dirge is sung — the symbol" light has died, 
And Rome proclaims the Saviour crucified. 
Then darkness falls upon the earth, and gloom 
Upon the hearts of men, and many a tomb 
Of saintly thoughts that long have slumbered 
Gives up to life its half-forgotten dead 
To kindle holy deeds, and acts abound 
Of faith and penitence. 

Upon the ground 
Rome consecrates unto her pilgrims, stand 
Their Church and Refuge, f whose plain walls 
command 



* During the sendee preceding the " Miserere " in the 
Sixtine Chapel, certain lights (grouped into a triangle) are 
extinguished one by one, excepting the last, which is placed 
behind the Altar during the singing of the dirge ; its removal 
being emblematical of that dread moment when the Light of 
the World was quenched. 

+ Adjoining the Church of La Trinita dei Pellegrini is an 
hospital, where not only are convalescents received, but in 
which the pilgrims who visit Rome for the Holy Week are 
lodged and provided for during a time proportioned to the 
length of their pilgrimages. On Wednesday, Thursday, and 



A POEM. 45 

But little notice, yet full many a tear 
More dear to heav'n has ofttimes fallen here 
Than in the Vatican. And thither come 
The noblest of the youths and maids of Rome 
To work out penitence ; here Maries bend 
To wash the travellers' feet ; here Marthas lend 
Their kindliness to cheer the pilgrims' fare, 
And every word and action seems a prayer. 
White 'neath the lamplight gleam the tables, 

spread 
With frugal fare of lettuces and bread, 
Round which flit graceful figures ministering, 
Like fluttering humming-birds upon the wing, 
All plumed in black and red.* 

Th' adjoining hall, 
With long-rowed benches flanks its whitewashed 

wall, 



Friday in the Holy Week the nobles of Rome perform penance 
by washing the wanderers' feet, and ministering to them at the 
supper with which the pilgrims are provided after their ablu- 
tions. These two ceremonies are respectively termed the 
Lavanda and Ccena. 

* The fair penitents of Rome who take part in this ceremony 
are all similarly attired in a most picturesque costume, in which 
the pleasing contrast of black and red is conspicuous. 



46 PILGRIMS. 

With pilgrims lined, at whose toil-hardened feet 
Kneel daughters of patrician Rome, to mete 
Their balance against sin. 

Amidst the troop 
Of pilgrims is a maid, of all the group 
Most young and fair, with eyes that seem to see 
Religion everywhere ; but pale is she 
And mournful, as Egeria ere her change. 
Bowed at her feet soft-touching hands arrange 
Her wayworn sandals, and a haughty brow, 
— Imperious e'en in servitude — bends low 
Before the woodland girl. 

That brow is set 
With hair as golden as a coronet, 
And purple eyes that seem made dark with pain, 
Through which at times gleams forth a proud 

disdain, 
Like light from amethysts. A summer gale 
Ne'er bowed before a lily of the vale 
A lovelier lily queen ! 

" What fancy, child, 
Has lured thy footsteps here ? Was not thy wild 



A POEM. 47 

Retreat amidst the unpolluted hills 

Meet home for thee ? The psalmody that trills 

Within the wood-lark's throat, was it too free, — 

Its simple notes too innocent for thee ? 

Or was the incense which the guileless flow'rs — 

High priests of nature — from their leafy bow'rs 

Waft heav'nwards, all too pure, that thou 

should'st come 
Unto the rotten pageantry of Rome ? 
Oh ! child of faith, beware ! The outward show 
Conceals a world of mystery below ! 
The stately pall with pomp embroidered holds 
A corpse enshrouded in its velvet folds ! 
Approach it not — turn homeward to thy vines, 
And when afar the sun reflected shines, 
Making St. Peter's dome a sun to thee, 
Weep thou, and pray upon thy bended knee 
For those beneath its shade." 

The pilgrim maid 
Hears with pale wonder on her brow, dismayed, 
As they who listen on Campanian ground 
With nature's fairest scenery around 
To thunders far beneath. 



48 PILGRIMS. 

Then in reply, 
She murmurs timidly; 

" Thine acts belie 
Thy warnings, lady, or thou dar'st not kneel, 
As now, in rites thy Church has blessed, nor 

seal 
Thy doubts with mockery." 

" Nay, simple child," 
Such is the curse of Rome. The soul defiled 
By doubt yet wears a mask of faith, and sees 
All holy that th' unerring Church decrees ! 
Insnared by toils of sacerdotal art, 
We lose the purest instincts of the heart, 
As birds once taught some artificial strain, 
In vain recall their own true notes again ! 
Thou, fresh from nature, may perchance still see 
Her truth reflected upon all, but we 
See darkness everywhere ! Ah ! could'st thou 

know 
The bitterness and pride that lurk below 
These forms of love !" 

Then — as the pilgrim hears, 
Her wonder changes pityingly to tears ; 



A POEM. 49 

In faith secure, as on a sea-girt steep 

A flower which blooms on rocks that chafe the 

deep, 
And which in fragile beauty bending low, 
Seems to rebuke the waves which rage below. 

As thus she bends, some papers gleaming white 
Flit from her peasant-kerchief, and alight 
Fluttering upon the ground. With eager hand 
Outstretched, the lady grasps their folds, as 

scanned 
In one biief glance their superscription sends 
A thrill unto her heart. 

The pilgrim rends 
The air with one long cry, as they who see 
Hope swiftly struck from life ! 

" Oh ! give them me ! 
Oh ! give my papers back, for they are all 
That now I live for ! " But her accents fall 
Upon unpitying ears. 

" Secure the maid ! 
The false — the traitorous pilgrim, who has made 
Our faith a cloak for treachery, and come 

E 



50 PILGRIMS. 

Accomplice of the band late fled from Rome, 
On rebel mission in a pilgrim guise ! 
Flame in her heart, religion in her eyes ! 
On rebel mission ! For too well I know 
How writes my traitor cousin, Claudio ! 
A rebel mission ! Born, perchance, of love ! 
Feigned as / know he well can feign, to move 
Her to his aid ! Nay, speak not, girl, 'tis vain — 
These papers that upon thy breast have lain 
Tell far too much ! " 

Thus cries the ireful maid, 
Unconscious that she also is betrayed 
To those who hear, for storms oft bring to shore 
Some shell which ocean would for evermore 
Have treasured in its depths. 

Then all around ; 
" The Princess loves him ! " breaks in whispered 

sound, 
And Silvia, borne half-swooning from the hall, 
Hears the low-murmured accents as they fall : 
Mournful are they as some chance wind-drawn 

strain 
From strings the harpist ne'er shall touch again ! 



A POEM. 51 



VII. 

Spinola's* groves are tipped with shimmering 

light, 
And Dian drops the treasures of the night 
Between their boughs, till all the ground beneath 
Seems flecked with silver seeds. 

Full many a wreath 
Of branching olive and festooning vine, 
In shadow waves upon the pale moonshine, 
In silent concert with the leaves that move 
To rustling music in the air above ; 
And cypresses, impelled by night winds, bow 
Their lofty heads within the melting glow, 
As though acknowledging the mute caress 
Night lends unto Spinola's loveliness. 
Where in a rose-girt space a fountain gleams — 
Like somewhitespiritchainedtoearth that seems 



* The Sicilian expedition under Guiseppe Garibaldi em- 
barked on the night of May 5th, i860, from the Villa Spinoia, 
near Genoa. 

E 2 



52 PILGRIMS. 

For ever struggling upward to the sky, 
Yet ever falling backward murmuringly — 
There — silent figures glide across the sward, 
In furtive speed, with many a glance toward 
The all-surrounding trees, as though there 

were 
Some evil lurking in the shadowy air. 
Dark forms are they and dim, but they shall 

sway 
A nation's destiny, and chase away 
A cloud from liberty. 

Onward they pass, 
With steps so stealthy that the treach'rous 

grass 
Scarce whispers forth the secret of their tread ; 
On, to the strand, where faithless waters spread 
Again in welcome at a hero's feet, 
As when they rolled Tyrrhenum* waves to meet 
The Chief of Troy. 



* Upon the western coast of Italy the Mediterranean waters 
were anciently divided into the Sinus Ligusticus — the Tyr- 
rhenian Mare and the Inferum Mare. 



A POEM. 53 

"My friends, Sicilians wait!'* 
It is enough — the Leader's words elate 
The men with zeal renew'd, and from the shore 
A muster-roll is called, which echoing o'er 
Th' assembled groups, unto each name receives 
An answering voice. Then as the ocean heaves 
In seeming unison with each brave heart, 
One after one enfranchised boats depart, 
Like sea-birds eager for the storm, — their freight 
A people's liberty — a nation's fate ! 

Prince Claudio, numbered with th' Adventurers, 

sees 
His hopes expand — as from the land, the seas, — 
Hopes that grow brighter when th' encom- 
passed main 
Upon the south is narrowed back again 
By Sicily's fair coasts. Now dreams may die 
And into deeds of valour fructify ! 
The time has come to summon forth the dead, 
T' unbind each fettered hand, each shrouded head, 
That from the sepulchre wherein they lie 
May rise the stricken hearts of Italy. 



54 PILGRIMS. 

Marsala first to the Deliverer droops 
The tyrant flag, and the avenging troops 
March unresisted through the town. 

At dawn 
Toward Salemi's walls the men are drawn, 
Expectant of the forces said to lie 
Near to Calatafimi threat'ningly ; 
And there at length they meet. 

Now clouds of sand, 
Aroused by conflict, eddy round the hand 
That wages death, and hovering o'er the fray — 
Like some expectant vulture o'er its prey — 
Dust circles round what soon to dust shall turn. 
As when sun-parched the western prairies burn, 
Compelled at last to flame and shoot on high 
Avenging fires to the malignant sky — 
Thus blaze this day in Sicily the hearts 
That w T rong has kindled, till the oppressors' 

daits 
Before the wrath aroused shrink back and yield 
The vict'ry of Calatafimi's field. 
Then, where should pour the Amiraglio's flood 
Upon the dried-up stones, fall drops of blood, 



A POEM. 55 

To witness silently of wrong and pain, 

Till Heaven's pure tears shall wash away the 

stain. 
And as of old the seven times circled walls 
Fell at the trumpet blasts of faith, so falls 
Palermo's* pride before the sevenfold cry, 
Wrenched from a desperate people's agony. 
Soon — bowed before th' avowed resistless fate — 
Milazzo offers to capitulate, 
And from Messina's port glide one by one 
The hostile ships of war. 

Then all is done ; 
And Freedom guided by the hand of God, 
Treads jubilant upon Sicilian sod. 



* " According to the admission of Neapolitan officers of rank, 
their forces at Palermo consisted of no less than 24,000 men." — 
Extract from " The Garibaldians in Sicily," by Alexander Dumas. 
Garibaldi's band at this time numbered not more than 1,400 men. 



56 PILGRIMS. 



VIII. 

Where chestnut woods, beyond Palermo's 

walls, 
Climb grassy knolls, and trickling water-falls 
In freedom revelling, babble loud and leap 
Foaming in wanton glee from steep to steep, 
Like silver ladders up the mountain heights ; 
Where all the colours of the southern lights 
Are spread, from their prismatic band untied, 
Seeming in rich confusion multiplied ; 
There — built in mockery of light and space — 
A Prison mars the charm of Nature's face ; 
Showing where misery and sin have trod — 
Man's shadow on the glorious work of God ! 

Those crested tow'rs, pregnant with human 

woe, 
Rose on yon sunny slope long years ago, 
But never until now has Freedom's breath 
Forestalled the gloomy liberator Death ! 



A POEM. 57 

The gates are burst ! The free air rushes in ! 
Mark the wan groups that once again begin 
Upon the threshold of their tomb to live ! 
Who pausing shrink, and wonderingly give 
A resurrection gaze ! Whilst they who stand 
Without, stretch forth to them a helpmg hand, 
And proffer guidance to the steps that reel 
With unaccustomed liberty. 

Then kneel 
The Rescued, joined by their Deliv'rers, bowed 
In an adoring, a rejoicing crowd. 

But some there are so broken down with 

pain 
They scarcely care to quit those walls again, 
Tneir lives imbittered by some tyrant care 
That leaves no freedom for them anywhere. 
Friends have they lost perchance, or hope, or 

youth, 
Or some illusion which they held as truth. 
"Then why," think they, "should we forsake 

the cell 
That all our vigils and our tears could tell, 



58 PILGRIMS. 

And which seems — echoing ceaselessly our 

cries ! — 
More faithful than are human sympathies ?" 

These hopeless ones the Liberators seek 
Within the too familiar walls, and speak 
To them reviving words, to stimulate 
The stagnant life-blood, and if not too late 
Restore the harmonies which wrong has riven 
That should attune their hearts to hope and 
heaven ! 

With them, piercing anew the Dungeon's gloom, 
Claudio tracks forth the steps — his heart the 

doom — 
Of captives who have languished year by year 
Within that rank and mildewed atmosphere — 
For e'en the purity of heaven's free air 
Is blighted when it only passes there ! 
To him each oozy drop of damp that falls 
Upon his forehead from the vaulted walls 
Appears the spirit of a tear of woe 
Wrung from some prisoner's eyelid long ago ; 



A POEM. 59 

Each red-hued lichen seems a mark of blood, 
Still lingering where once swept a human 

flood, 
And on the walls where clammy damp-stains lie, 
Appears engrained a sweat of agony. 
E'en daylight pales in terror of the place, 
Where doors unbarred yield some unwonted 

space 
Through which to slip a gleam, and trembling 

lies 
Across the prison's dank intricacies. 

One such faint glimmer Claudio traces where 
The walls divide on an ascending stair, 
So steep, so narrow, that it seems to lie 
Within the thickness of the masonry. 
Above, its bolt withdrawn, an open door 
Reveals a cell beyond, with rush-strewn floor, 
On which the sunbeams through a loop-hole 

glow — 
Gilding the passage Man has wrought for Woe! 
Stretched on the rushes where the ray can trace 
The tender beauty of her upturned face, 



60 PILGRIMS. 

A maid unconscious lies — a fever brand 
Upon her brow, as though a heavenly hand, 
Impatient for another angel, twined 
Celestial roses there. All unconfined, 
Her tresses in an ebon tracery rest 
T nlaid upon the ivory of her breast, 
As if the meshes of that silken net 
Were loth to free the gentle spirit yet. 

" Silvia ! My guileless Silvia here ? Alas ! 
Could not the rancour of our tyrants pass 
Such innocence as thine ? Awake ! Arise ! 
See how at last upon our destinies 
The Heav'ns look kind ! Their will was ever 

thine — 
Then smile with them upon us — Silvia mine!" 

If it be true that every word must chase 
Perpetual echoes through eternal space — 
That sounds which seem to us to fade and die 
Are rushing onwards everlastingly — 
Perchance the many utterances of love 
Unheard on earth, may yet in realms above, 



A POEM. 6l 

Launched to infinity — in ceaseless roll — 
Flash with swift comfort past their destined 

soul ! 
But now unheeded is the pleading cry 
Of love and anguish, and the echoes fly, 
Striking confused against the prison walls 
Till they escape to Heav'n, whilst Claudio 

falls 
Bowed at the maiden's side with wild appeals 
Of yearning tenderness. 

Then, as he kneels, 
His gaze upon her face, the air is stirred 
Softly around her lips by one faint word — 
She knows him not, and yet her spirit clings 
Unto his name amidst its wanderings ! 

Footsteps without approach, the stair ascend, 
And Claudio's comrades group around their 

friend. 
Raising the maiden with most tender care 
They — forming into sad procession — bear 
Her to the world without, where dewy grass 
Hushes the martial footsteps as they pass, 



62 PILGRIMS. 

And where the red shirts struck by sunlight 

stand 
Girt round their burden like a fiery band. 
A vesper bell from some adjacent height 
Floats music to the plain — a lingering light 
Glints on the chestnut woods from tree to tree — 
Like glancing spray upon a wind-tossed sea — 
And lines of purple and of golden red 
Trace mystic writing on the sky o'erhead, 
As though the sunset with inscribing ray 
Noted the records of the finished day. 



A POEM. 



63 



IX. 

Advancing from the coast a headland stands 
Alone before the sea, with gorgeous bands 
Of verdure circling its majestic crown 
And red-hued precipices sloping down 
Sheer to the azure deep. It seems to be 
Some great high-priest of that untroubled sea, 
Standing barefooted by the veil that lies 
In envious folds above its mysteries. 
Half up the mountain side a white arcade 
Springs from the sandstone cliff, with hollowed 

shade 
Beneath each arch and with uneven piers, 
Now caught upon a spur of rock that rears 
A jagged outline, fringed with prickly pear, 
Now lengthening into long white columns, where 
They dip to some abyss. 

A convent wall 
Above the arches, unadorned and tall, 
With narrow windows dotted here and there — 
Bewildering motes upon a dazzling glare ! — 



64 PILGRIMS. 

Bared to the ardour of the southern light, 
Stands stern, as some world-wearied anchorite, 
Confronting heav'n alone. 

A mighty screen 
Behind arises in an emerald sheen 
Of ilex and of cypress branches spread 
Upon the slanting summits overhead — 
A barrier that the gentle nuns have set 
Between them and the world they would forget. 

In this retreat, beneath the Sisters' care, 
Young Silvia trembles back to life — a prayer 
Upon her lips, as though a breath of heaven 
Escaped the gates death has so nearly riven. 
Feebly a: first her opening eyelids fix 
Upon a figure of the crucifix 
Suspended near, then from the form divine 
Turn slowly to the watchful Ursuline 
Bent o'er her couch ; 

" Are still my fancies vain, 
Or have they wandered back to truth again ? 
These are no prison walls, — nor this the air 
That sapped my life with hourly poison there ! 



A POEM. 65 

Tell me — is this of earth — this odorous breath 
That fresh from summer roses entereth 
Fanning my brow, as though an angel wing 
To me invisible were ministering?" 

" Forget thy prison, child, and calm thy dread; 
Both real woes and fevered dreams have fled. 
The Blessed Virgin, watchful of thy fate, 
Had thee conveyed unto the convent gate 
Of sainted Ursula ; and constantly 
We sisters tend on thee, alternately, 
Fasting — that thou may'st live ; whilst day and 

night, 
Within our chapel burns a constant light, 
Placed by thy friend upon the altar there, 
The ardent symbol of his ceaseless prayer." 

" Alas ! I have no friend ! The steadfast flame 
Would scarcely burn if placed in Silvia's name ! 
A peasant girl am I — loved but by one, 
And he has left me in the world alone ! 
My father gone — defenceless and obscure — 
I learnt how even Rome may wrong the pure — 

F 



66 PILGRIMS. 

Condemned, untried, for evermore to lie 
Within the prison vaults of Sicily !" 

" Poor child ! But still believe me there is yet 

A friend left unto thee ; can'st thou forget ? 

To us poor sisters memory seems to press 

So vividly upon our weariness ! 

There is no outer world for us, to win 

Our thoughts from dwelling on the world 

within. 
A fond face seen in the far days of yore 
Wears the same smile to us for evermore ; 
And loving words, though whispered years ago, 
Ne'er lose the accents that entranced us so. 
Ah ! child ! sometimes methinks that it is well 
To be a nun within a convent cell !" 

Then Silvia falteringly : 

" There once was one 
Who found me — lost in Naples — all alone ; — 
I knew him but three days — 'twould be too 

vain 
To dream that we should ever meet again." 



A POEM, 67 

And yet-— can it be Hope ? — The life-blood 

streams, 
Renewed and kindled through her veins ; — it 

seems 
As though vibrations from a chord cf sound 
Had sent fresh harmonies to echo round, 
And charm all thoughts of pain, as grains of 

sand 
Shake into form beneath an unseen hand 
At stroke of melody. 

Silent she lies, 
Dropping the veiling lashes on her eyes 
To shut in all her joy ; whilst lingering there, 
The nun, still watchful, steals in rapid prayer 
A Pater Noster from her beads, and signs 
The symbol of the cross in mystic lines. 



f 2 



68 PILGRIMS. 



X. 

The gorgeous southern autumn lies oppressed 
Amidst its own delights. The vague unrest 
Of calm hangs subtly in the golden air, 
And all the distances and hill-tops wear 
A veil — that seems of neither mist nor haze — 
But wearied colour shrinking from the blaze 
And seeking rest afar. 

The purple vines 
On terraces of rock, in serried lines, 
Await their sacrifice, and bending low 
The citron branches to the ground below 
Let fall their topaz fruit. The path which 

leads 
Unto the convent gate is strewed with seeds — 
The summer burden of the wearied trees, — 
And ever and anon a lizard flees 
Across its stony windings, mute and fleet, — 
An elfish spirit of the silent heat ! 



A POEM. 69 

But o'er the rough-hewn pavement, stretched 

before 
The whitened archway of the convent door, 
A cypress marks its shade in ebon line, 
Tracing a limit to the bright sunshine* 

A time-worn parapet of stone defends 

The mountain platform, where the cliff descends 

Abruptly to the sea, and resting there, 

With brow uncovered to the breathless air, 

Claudio awaits. 

Thus through the summer gone, 
Full oft the youth has lingered there alone, 
To watch St. Ursula's closed walls, wherein 
His love — she whom the angels strove to win — 
So nearly strayed to heav'n ; and later, when 
She turned unto her own sweet life again, 
He oft has met beneath the cypress shade, 
Led by the kindly nuns, his peasant maid : 
And sometimes — as to one from whom they 

hold 
Their charge, — they her to him have brought 

and told, 



JO PILGRIMS. 

With garrulous simplicity and tears, 
Of all her sufferings and of all their fears, 
Whilst she all pale and silent trembled near, 
Too vaguely happy, too confused to hear 
Their speech, yet conscious that at each farewell 
His eyes would meet her timid ones, and tell 
That silent story which can still entrance 
Long after words have lost significance. 

But now this autumn noon, with full intent 
To give to looks a voice, the youth has sent 
Unto the Abbess, and a sanction won 
To see alone his Silvia ere the sun 
Shall close the ardour of his golden eye 
Upon the coasts of sea-girt Sicily. 

The cypress shade more to the eastward creeps, 
Leaving a pathway that the sunlight steeps 
In gold for her who comes. Throughout the air 
A trembling stirs, as though its pulses were 
Awakened by the gentle form that now 
Stands doubtfully, as though uncertain how 
To pass the virgin gate. 



A POEM. 71 

With reverence given 
When love in love can see a light from heaven, 
The youth approaches where the maiden stands 
And lifts unto his lips the tight-clasped hands 
That closely twined upon her bosom, press 
Back to her heart its flood of happiness. 

" When, Silvia, borne from Santa Lucia's shore 
I left thee (thinking we should meet no more !) 
Unmindful that so near the Sirens'* caves 
Enchantment still might float upon the waves, 
Thy charms I vainly trusted to forget — 
But ah ! their spell is lingering round me yet ! 
How often absence weaves a lasting tie 
From what seems scarce enough for memory ! 
Methinks that thoughts are wanderings of the 

soul, 
Which, when at times evading the control 
Of mortal ties, meets those for whom it yearns ! 
Re-unions that the earth-bound frame discerns 



* The Sirens are said to have inhabited the rocky coasts oi 
the islands of Sirenusa?. 



72 PILGRIMS. 

But dimly when our life with labour teems — 
In sleep, seen vividly, we call them dreams. 
Thus we have met, my Silvia, and I greet 
Thee now, not only as a maiden sweet 
Seen three short days, but as one loved and 

known, 
Whose soul has held communion with mine own. 
I ask not if it seemeth thus to thee, 
For wherefore tremblest thou in meeting me ? 
What truth but one, could bend that candid brow, 
Which never surely learnt to droop till now ? 
Ah ! raise thine eyelids, sweet, for they reveal 
All by thus low'ring that they would conceal. " 

As laden flowers from dewy languor rise 
Beneath the blessing of the morning skies, 
Her soft eyes tremble upwards unto his 
To lose their love-drops in a tender kiss. 



Half from her lips — half from the love that 

learns, 
As if by intuition, and discerns 



A POEM, 73 

What is by love withholden, Claudio gains 
The maiden's history of the fatal plains— 
The journey on to Rome — the meeting there 
With the Princess, to whom his papers were 
Her mute betrayers. Then to her he gives 
The future he has planned, — a dream that lives 
Alas ! but in his breast. For him, one year 
Of glorious war, — whilst she, free from all fear, 
Shall tarry with the nuns — then, Naples free.— 
Rome, Queen of a united Italy,— 
And Silvia his bride ! 

" Till then our love 
Must trust ; and, sweetest, when the sun above 
Looks down on thee, think how its light has 

sped 
Through trackless space to shine upon thy 

head ! 
Think how the stars through myriads of miles 
Have sent the rays that watch upon thy smiles ! 
Mark how the ocean waters haste to meet, 
And kiss, when thou art near, thy wandering 

feet: 



74 PILGRIMS. 

Thus may'st thou easily believe that I 
Shall worship with no less idolatry!" 

And thus together where the cliff is set 
With bordering of ruined parapet, 
The lovers linger, whilst the golden day 
Hurries the sweetness of their lives away. 



A POEM. 75 



XL 

In all excess of gladness or despair 

The soul within us is compelled to prayer ; 

For like those subtle influences which move 

The ocean deep and raise the flood above, 

There is at times a holy impulse given 

That draws the waters of the soul to Heaven ! 

Alone with all her joy — the one distress 
Of parting lost in love and happiness,— 
The maid, bewildered with a sense of light, 
(As one half dazzled by a meteor's flight, 
Who recks not that the flash of splendour flown 
Leaves nought behind it but a cold grey stone,) 
Seeks in the convent chapel sanctuary 
For all her new-born bliss. 

The shadows lie 
Around her in a silence still and deep, 
For vesper hymns have hushed the day to 
sleep, 



76 PILGRIMS. 

But lights upon the holy Altar shine, — 
Now caught by silver bars around a shrine, 
Now striking arch, or shaft of porphyry, 
Or polished forms of sculptured imagery, 
Until with special brilliancy they fix 
In halo round a jewelled crucifix. 

And silent kneels the maid — -no utterance robs 
Her lips of motion, yet her being throbs 
In rapt communion. 

Burn the lights more pale? 
Before the glittering crucifix a veil 
Seems for an instant drawn ! But now again 
'Tis gone, as catching up the golden rain 
The cross shines forth once more. 

Yet something creeps — 
A shadow midst the shades — a form that steeps 
Itself in dimness ! Near where Silvia kneels 
It glides, screening the altar blaze, as steals 
A cloud upon the moon ! The blessed trance 
Breaks off its ecstasy in fear ! One glance 
And terror fixes in her eyes ! for there 
Before her, still majestic, but less fair, 



A POEM. 77 

Stands the Princess of Rome ! 

" Speak not— nor fear: — 
I come to save thee, child— to save ! Do'st 

hear ? 
To save thee from thy folly and thy crime ; 
To crush thy joy indeed, as thou hast mine, 
But still to save thee from a greater woe, 
As purgatory from the hell below. 
The first thou art not that a coronet 
Has dazzled from her sphere. Renounce ! 

Forget ! " 

Then Silvia rises, all her terror gone, 

And indignation in her eyes alone ! 

" What is my folly, lady ? what my sin ? 

Is it that 7, a peasant girl, dare win 

The love thy lineage could not gain for thee ? 

The greatness of thy noble world would be 

Indeed most potent could it buy the heart, 

And win with gold the soul ! 

My foe thou art 
In that he loves me, but believe me I 
Have won my happiness unwittingly ! 



78 



PILGRIMS. 



And by this shrine I vow, if it could be, 
I'd give the heart that I have gained to thee 
For his dear sake, for it were better far 
That he should wed with thee than Silvia." 

" If it could be! How art thou so secure ? 
Believest thou men love for evermore ?" 

" E'en if they do not, what is past is true ; 
The future changes, but cannot undo. 
A love one instant ours unchanged will be 
Ours for that instant through eternity! 
What boots it in the never-ceasing roll 
Of countless ages, if the yearning soul 
Looks to a past of earthly hours or years ? 
By depth, not length, 't will mete its joys and 
tears !" 



" If thus it be, child, thou do'st then possess 
Secure what thou hast gained of happiness. 
But ask no more, and for his sake untwine 
The threads from his life that have tangled 
thine. 



A POEM, 



79 



Take thy short dream to bless thy future 

years, 
And risk not to outweigh its sweets with tears. 
Think not that when upon thy lowly brow 
His jewels shine, he'll love thee then as now, 
Ah ! no ! thy sylvan loveliness will set 
Beneath the splendours of a coronet, 
And he will blush and thou wilt weep to see 
How 7 rude the charms he once so praised in 

thee!" 

" Oh ! lady, spare me ! for my dazzled eyes 
Have scarce yet turned away from paradise, 
And of the sun they just have looked on bear 
Bright images that hover everywhere. 
Disturb them not. Leave me my joy and go. 
Hast thou not worked on me sufficient woe ? 
'Twas thou betrayed me ! 'twas thy influence 

strove 
In those dread vaults to hide me from my 

love ! 
But e'en the cruel prison proved to be 
More kind than thou — it gave him back to me. 



80 PILGRIMS. 

And yet — thy bitter words might prove too 

true ! 
Oh ! Holy Virgin ! than that he should rue 
His choice, far better that to grief and pain 
I turn my long accustomed life again ! 
For not one pang that in the future lies 
Could wound as scorn in his once tender 

eyes !" 

Is it a smile exultant that appears 
To move th' austerity of her who hears ? 
And yet the sweetness of her voice belies 
All that there is of triumph in her eyes ! 

" Maiden, why speak of sorrow or of pain ? 
Within these convent walls there long have 

lain 
The graves of many a wordless memory 
Untouched by all its former agony ! 
Graves — round which flowers have grown — 

where sunlight gleams 
Round which the gentle nuns weave golden 

dreams — 



A POEM. 8l 

Join thine to theirs — 'tis safer here than where 
The rude world breathes its desecrating air !" 

" Princess, away ! Thy persecution cease ! 
Enough — for thou hast poisoned all my peace ! 
Go — thou hast conquered, and thy lover free, 
The Future take — but leave the Past to me ! " 



82 PILGRIMS. 



XII. 

The moon has risen ; — o'er the watery plain 
The radiance striking seems to rend in twain 
The ocean veil, and through the fissure show 
Glories escaping from the depths below. 
Pale on the steep cliff gleams the convent 

wall 
— Paling as though in fear — as gathering all 
Her shades around her, steady night creeps on. 

Alone before her casement — pensive — wan — 
The Princess stands — leaning with folded 

arms, 
And sighing with the sea. 

The auburn charms 
Of her bright hair are tossed aside ; her face 
Is ominous with thoughts of ill that chase 
Away its loveliness ; and from her eyes 
The evil star which rules her destinies, 
Strikes a reflected gleam. 



A POEM. 83 

A passion-flower 
Bent with its dewy burden, from a bower 
Above her casement twined, stoops down to rest 
Its languid petals on her heaving breast. 
Fiercely upon her heart she crushes them ! 
" Thus would I crush all passion and contemn 
All love ! Why should our nature upon earth 
Bring so much ill ? What influence at the birth 
Of man brings with the beauties of his soul 
The subtle evil that must mar the whole ? 
Once — -was there ought within my breast but 

peace ? 
Aught but the tenderest wishes to increase 
All happiness, or where I met with pain 
Give back the sunshine of the heart again ? 
I can remember — 'tis not long ago — 
My being shuddering at a cry of woe ! 
And yet before that peasant maiden's cry, 
Wrung from her terror and her agony, 
When to my hands her papers fell — all light, 
All sympathy fled from my soul, and night 
Absorbed my life ! What joy it was to feel 
My rival in my power ! To set my seal 

g 2 



84 PILGRIMS. 

Upon her anguish ! To a prison cell 

Consign her charms !— Call I these joys ? Ah ! 

well! 
Joys were they not, but rather triumphs, set 
Like jewels in a poisoned coronet, 
That round the brow with fatal radiance twine, 
Racking with deadly torture whilst they shine ! 
And all my wariness has been in vain ! 
My schemes but giv'n her back to him again, 
And interposed a mightier barrier still 
Between his heart and mine ; for though her will 
Before my stronger one already bows, — 
(Nor will I leave this convent till her vows 
Chain her for ever here !) yet what of his ? 
Will her woe bring me nearer to my bliss ?" 

And for all answer to the question came 
A restless murmur from the deep — the same 
Response there ever has been and shall be 
To human hearts till there be " no more sea." 



A POEM. 85 



XIIL 

Meanwhile to Naples Claudio speeds, com- 
pelled 

To join again the patriot band, now swelled 

In conquests as in force. 

Redeemed and free, 

High from her fort proud Naples waves the 
three 

Loved colours with their cross — the flag that 
springs 

From dauntless faith and noble sufferings ! 

The Bourbon rule has perished as the blight 

A thunder storm clears off within a night, 

Leaving the fruit to ripen in the sun 

Of an untainted day. 

The work is done — 

But much to do remains — much to withstand — 

Much to consolidate — and much command ! 

The conquered — desperate and menacing — 

The succoured — clamorous for everything ! 



86 PILGRIMS. 

The Pioneer of liberty needs all 

His utmost strength, and prompt to every 

call, 
On fields more treacherous now than those of 

war, 
Must his supporters stand. 

Momentous are 
The records of the last wild throes that 

bring 
Forth Freedom from a nation's suffering. 



There comes a calm at last — dissensions cease ; 
Each grievance glides into the light of peace. 
Then Claudio who through all has held a 

sweet 
Anticipation at his heart, to meet 
His Silvia prepares. 

Severed indeed 
Have been the lovers, for the heart can read 
Less than it dreams, and from the heart the 

source 
Of his and the young peasant's intercourse 



A POEM. 87 

Alone could spring— whilst that her love could 

rise 
To consummation in self-sacrifice, 
He knew not nor divined. 

How little trace 
Of un-remitting change upon the face 
Of self-renewing nature ! Leaves that grew 
Last year and fell and withered, renew 
Themselves and fade upon the self-same tree 
To bud— to pale — to fall again and flee 
Again 'tvixt death and life ! 

To Claudio 
The time that bloomed and died one year 

ago 
Seems risen to charm again, its golden light 
Untarnished, and all its splendour bright, 
As though three hundred and three score of 

sum 
Had not died out from time. 

The lizard runs 
Swift a; of yore across his path and cling 
The gripes in purple bunches clustering 



88 



PILGRIMS. 



Unto the vines renewed ; but as he nears 
The convent's guardian cypresses, he hears 
Sounds unaccustomed and confused, which 

greet 
Hfs ear where last alone his Silvia's sweet 
And loving accents toned their long farewell. 
Footsteps re-echoing from the paved court tell . 
Of crowds unusual there and blend with sound 
Of voices — now subdued and rare — now wound 
And intermixed upon a chanted chord, 
Whilst ever and anon an organ laud 
With music shivers the harmonious ai^, 
That groans with melody and in despajr 
Swoons on the distant hills. 

Within the gate 
The traveller pauses all amazed ! Whf wait 
These peasants grouped about the chapel door, 
And knotted round the court? A crowc^of poor, 
Who scarce would throng so num'r^usly to 

hear 
The simple service of the nuns, nor wezj 
Their gala dress save at some holy feasj, 
Of which none falls to-day. 



A POEM. 89 

He stands where least 
The pressure of the crowd, and asks, 

" What means 
All this assemblage gathered here ? What scenes 
Enact the nuns that to their solitude 
And pious rites allure this multitude ?" 
A beldam leaning near shakes forth reply :— 
" We come to see a new-vowed sister lie 
Upon her bier, whilst yet in flush of life ; 
Without the kindly numbness that is rife 
In my old limbs — which takes from them the 

sting 
Of every pang, — but fresh for suffering 
Of mind or sense !" 

" A blithe sight truly, dame ! 
'Twere better fate to be content to claim 
The happiness allowed on earth, and not 
Grasp at celestial sweets the Heav'ns allot 
Only beyond the grave ! But who is she 
Who thinks to win eternal peace and flee 
From sin and woe ? As though a convent wall 
Could shut out thoughts of ill, or veils could fall 



90 PILGRIMS. 

On heart-pursuing memories ! Alas ! 
Both sin and grief are subtle ills that pass 
With life alone ! pray Heav'n that even then 
The soul evade them ! But I ask again, 
Who is the victim in this sacrifice ?" 

To him this time a shepherd youth replies : 

" Her name we know not, but the country 

teems 
With strange reports concerning her ; — of 

schemes 
In which she shared — of dire imprisonment, — 
Of rescue, by the brave deliverers sent 
To this poor Sicily — and 'tis all this 
Attracts us here. Some say — perchance 

amiss, — 
That she is forced to take the veil, and some 
Aver that since she came, a dame from Rome 
Has followed, to induce her to the vow 
Through rivalry in love." 

Tis only now, 
As though aroused by the word of love, 
That Claudio wakes unto the truth. 



A POEM. gi 

Above, 
Unchanged the sun, unchanged the autumn 

sky— 
The organ peals still strike forth melody— 
The aged crone leans on her staff unmoved— 
The shepherd's lips are scarcely yet removed 
From the last shape his words have giv'n — ■ 

and yet 
Eternity seems passed, and chaos set 
Within the timeless age ! 

Now he has driven 
Aside with thrusts the wedged crowd — has riven 
An entrance through the chapel gates, and gained 
An access through the throng within — proclaimed 
By cries from those whom passion-tossed he flings 
Madly aside. 

The chanting chorus sings 
Confused to discord — lapsing in a wail — 
The priests officiating pause and quail 
An instant at the sudden storm, then stand 
Confronting with proud gestures of command 
Th' intruder — who has gained the altar now 
And cries to Silvia to withhold her vow. 



92 PILGRIMS. 

Beyond a grating's gilded traceries 
Upon the marble ground a coffin lies, 
Round which like effigies, that summer suns 
Touch not, are ranged in sable band, the nuns ; 
A low moan answers from their midst — and 

slow, 
As though a half-numbed corpse shook off the 

woe 
Of death, beneath the pall a figure moves, 
And Silvia rising, looks on him she loves. 
" Claudio, forget me ! Uncompelled and free 
I rob my life of happiness ! — of thee ! 
And if it be a sin to break the vow 
I made to thee, an oath more solemn now 
Forbids a weightier perjury! — Farewell ! 
Forget the Silvia thou hast loved too well ! 
There is another worthier than I 
To share with thee thy lofty destiny ! 
Take her — the brilliant Princess ! — who will 

give 
Thy life a suited fellowship, and live 
More nobly blest with thee, than now ; whilst I 
Can love thee only well enough — to die !" 



A POEM. 93 

Then to the funeral couch where she has lain 
Her shadowy form sinks slowly down again ; 
Whilst wailing rises and a tremor runs 
Throughout the rigid company of nuns. 
Closely they press around the coffin — weep 
And wring their hands — the " maid has fall'n 

asleep " — 
Lost unto them as to the world, and wooed 
By Death to a celestial sisterhood. 



94 PILGRIMS. 



XIV. 

Grey gleams the day upon Rotondo's height — 
Dim with a weight of tears. 

The ashen light 
Strikes on the host of olive trees that wield 
Their limbs distorted, and with silver shield 
Give battle to the morn. 

A vapoury sea 
Blots out the plain below, where Rome should be — 
Foretokening her doom! — whilst heav'n above 
Teems with battalions of fierce clouds which 

move 
Like dragons belching steam — with wings out- 
spread, 
Or spirits of the City's mighty dead 
Stirred at the breath of war ! 

A moving shade, 
Deepening the greyness of the mount, is laid 
Nigh to the olives on Rotondo's slope — 
A shadow small — yet big with weighty hope — 



A POEM. 95 

It is the patriot camp. 

Confused sound 
Creeps from it numbly as the moistened ground 
Gives back the heavy tread of martial trains, 
And hoarse commands, — -choked by the rushing 

rains- 
Come struggling through the storm ; whilst 

bugle cries, 
Finding no echo in the laden skies, 
Grow faint, and seem to call with muffled breath 
Not unto victory, but unto death. 

Far off — ■ below — Campagna's cloud-veiled 

grounds 
Send up a wind-wave of responding sounds 
From a far mightier host — and trembling 

runs 
Through the long silent plains, as heavy guns 
Drag the aroused soil ; but over all, 
Impenetrable hangs the ashen pall 
Of mist — a seeming void — from which the hum 
Of light-toned clarion and dull beating drum 
Comes like an echo from the classic past, 



96 PILGRIMS. 

When from another Rome battalions vast 
Marched thus on liberty. 

To meet their foe — 
Now from the mount unto the plain below 
The patriots descend — unflinching all — 
Though to the Papal mercenaries small 
And weak in number, as the gleams of light 
A sunset leaves to wrestle with the night, 
Compared with the star army that the sky 
Leads forth upon the day's last agony. 

The battle bursts — and loud-voiced havoc thrills 
More fierce than storm-gust to the grey-tipped hills 
That bow themselves before the clouds and stand, 
Like mediators for their blood-stained land, 
Veiled, between earth and heav'n. 

From foe to foe 
Flash fiery tokens, scattering as they go 
Pain, desolation, death ! — Triumphant cries 
Unheeded fade to moaning agonies ! 
Young hearts — unknown of pain — spring forth 

to meet 
Prostrating thrusts — and by the eager feet 



A POEM. 



97 



Of their own comrades — -hurrying to the strife, 
Have their last pulses trampled from their 

life! 
Torn standards fall upon the plain and dye 
Their folds with life-blood of the enemy, 
Till, as the living fail, each flag is hid 
By the staunch dead in faithful pyramid. 
And 'tis for only this the gates of Rome, 
Seen through long years are reached! From 

Peter's dome 
At last the free hour promises to sound,— 
But 'tis for those who die ! The Latin ground 
Sucks its deliverers' blood and soon shall 

scent 
Its reckless flow'rs with that dear nourishment. 
Pressed by o'erwhelming force the patriots 

yield 
At last the vict'ry of Mentana's field ! 
Each backward step out-weighed by deadly 

blows,— 
Each bosom turned to the advancing foes, — 
No bugler left to sound defeat's last call, — 
No trumpeter to herald forth their fall ! 

H 



9§ PILGRIMS. 

Retreating to the hills whence they have 

come — 
With wistful eyes strained to the end towards 
Rome ! 



The day is over, and the setting sun, 
As though remorseful for the havoc done, 
Is reddening in the west. The morning rain 
Has ceased and dried upon the war-stained 

plain ; 
And all the mist has rolled far out to sea, 
Leaving the wide Campagnian desert free. 

Upon an outpost of the mountain steep, 
Where blackened olives, seared with battle, 

keep 
A silent guard, — stretched on the barren soil — 
His head supported by the roots which coil 
Like serpents in the sand, a soldier lies, — 
His sword still grasped, although his enemies 
Have left him there alone — a helpless prey 
To one no human weapon keeps away ! 



A POEM. 99 

A shade of pain has dimmed the youthful glow, 
And war-brands sear the once unfurrowed brow, 
But yet the subtle notes of nature show 
The wounded warrior to be Claudio. 

Fixed on the distant west, his eager eyes 
Drink in their last of sight where crimsoned 

skies 
Throw out the form of Rome. 

Like mystic signs 
Engraved upon an Eastern ring, the lines 
Irregular of walls and towers arise, 
Fraught with a great Past's silent histories, 
On the red scroll of heav'n ! 

" Is this the end? 
Do all youth's dreams and manhood's struggles 

tend 
Only to this ? Stands Rome thus mute — thus 

calm, 
Extending for us no avenging arm ? 
Can she thus see her suffering martyrs die — 
Thus witness the last pangs of liberty — 

H 2 



IOO PILGRIMS. 

And give no sign ? Make not for us one moan ? 
Of all her palaces stirs not one stone ? 
Rome — Rome arise ! If all thy Life has fled 
Assert thy boasted empire o'er the Dead. 
Call forth the ashes that so long have lain 
Within thy tombs and bid them live again ! " 

Thus Claudio ; — then, as in our dreams we see 
Strange changes with no link of sense, so he 
Through fevered medium sees a fiery glow 
Thrill through the heavens and the plain below, 
Gleam with a brazen light ! The sultry air 
Against his parched lips burns, and lurid glare 
Flashed from the lightnings conjured in his brain, 
Blears every sense excepting that of pain. 
"Water! I thirst ! Did heav'n send rain to lie 
For nought upon the ground but mockery ? 
I feel no moisture on the sod — a flame 
Seems stealing from it ! In the Virgin's name 
Give water quickly ! or I die ! 

Oh! Heaven!— 
A flowing stream unto my prayer is given ! 
I feel the large drops fall upon my hand ! " 



A POEM. IOI 

It is his life-blood dripping to the sand ! 
Wildly he seeks the welling stream and sips 
The sanguine current with his eager lips- 
Then fainter than before renews the cry ; 
" Water ! Bring water quickly — or I die ! " 

As midst Sahara's wastes a spring unseen, 
Though miles of scorching desert intervene, 
Sends subtle freshness that a great despair 
Alone detects upon the sun-dried air, 
E'en thus to him an influence undefined 
Brings instinct of relief. 

The evening wind 
Thrills the seared olive leaves, and shades of 

night, 
Steal from the hills the fallen gems of light, 
When 'tween the soldier and the sunset sky, 
A woman clad in ash-hued drapery, 
With bowed head shrouded in a gleaming 

hood, 
That marks her one of Mercy's sisterhood, 
Stands — with a goblet filled up to the brim, 
Tending the limpid life-draught down to him. 



102 PILGRIMS. 

Impetuously he grasps the cup — when lo ! 

Arrested by a murmur'd " Claudio," 

He starts — his eyes strain through the dusk and 

trace 
A look they know upon the woman's face. 

" Melina ! — Hence ! away ! Bring not to me 
The life thou owest to her ! Tend not to me 
Hands haunted by her woe ! The saints on 

high 
Shall end, in pitying love, this agony — 
Not thou !" 

Then he his yearning lip restrains 
And flings the cup untasted to the plains, 
Whilst as the goblet broken quits his hand 
He falls back dead upon the crimsoned sand. 



The Night comes upward from the East and 

stands 
To mourn and shroud the Dead. 

Her shadowy hands 



A POEM. IO3 

For flowers spread wreaths of stars, and from 

her tears 
Spring mists that rise and fall. 

Through countless years 
Thus has — thus shall — she come, to fold away 
Beneath her silver wings, the Hopes of Day. 



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